The Joker, the Bat, and the Rose
by Spartanica
Summary: The Joker has landed himself in Arkham, yet again. And he's going through shrinks like there's no tomorrow. When he can't break the mind of his latest psychologist, he sets out to get his ultimate revenge on Gotham city, and more importantly, Batman.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: First Batman story; I felt inspired when I started watching some of the Harley Quinn episodes of the animated series, and then I read a few of the comics involving the HarleyxJoker relationship. That, mixed with my seeing the new movie too many times, has made it impossible for me to just sit still and not write anything. So, here we go. I was thinking that I definitely wanted some HarleyxJoker stuff going on, but I thought that Ms. Quinzel could use a little competition. You might hate me for it, but oh well. It's not a romantic competition, because, let's face it, the Joker doesn't really think along those lines. (At least not for anyone besides Harley, in my mind) It's mostly a Harvey Dent sort of attraction, he wants to bring this new person down to his level. I'm probably going to be switching point of views, so don't get confused. And no flaming, got it? I'm going to delete any pairing flames, because they annoy me. This story is really for me, and for any fangirl who likes Batman and the Joker. All you'll have to do is put yourself in the main character's shoes and...voila! **

**This is my first time writing for the Joker, which should be interesting because there's so many different versions of him. In my mind, this Joker is a mix of the comic book original and Heath Ledger's Joker. Enjoy. And this is just the teaser chapter, so it's going to be shorter than the rest. (I might use a few of the Joker's original lines, too. Just because they're spectacular.)  
**

* * *

He had told himself he wouldn't be intimidated. He was, all modesty aside, the best. So, when Nigel Himen heard that the infamous Joker had been sentenced to life in Arkham on a plead of insanity, he jumped at the chance to be the man's psychologist. If he could turn the Joker straight, he'd be the most honored and respected man in his field. He could write a book about it, get the movie rights...it would be spectacular. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. Dozens of shrinks applied for the job, and obviously, the ones already working at Arkham got priority.

So, Nigel had waited. He wasn't surprised when the first couple of doctors had quit after only a few days. Nigel only grew uneasy after three months passed, during which time the Joker has sent two dozen doctors squabbling and whining all the way back home. Then, the day came where he got a phone call. The voice on the other end sounded tired. "I'm calling for Nigel..." He was used to the pause before his last name, and jumped in before the woman could mispronounce it.

"Heeman, with a long sounding 'I'. And this is him." He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a bit of a chuckle from the woman on the phone. She recovered well.

"Yes...this is Betty Garrison, over at Arkham. You applied for a psychologist job, a few months ago, am I correct?"

Nigel clutched the phone a bit tighter, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. "Uhm, yes. That's right." He ran his hand over his bald spot, wiping the sweat from his skin.

"Well, today's your lucky day. A position has just recently become available. Are you interested?"

"Yes!" Dammit. So much for staying calm. "I mean...I'll have to check my schedule..."

Another chuckle, this one sounding slightly more mocking. "You do that. I'll see you Monday morning." There was a small 'click', then the dial tone rang in his ear. All nervousness forgotten, Nigel hung up the phone and set about preparing himself.

Monday morning rolled around, and Nigel dressed himself in a beige business suit, and combed his hair over the bald spot, slicking it down in place with some water. He swapped out his contacts for his small round glasses, and slid his feet into his most expensive shoes, which made a delightful squeaking sound when he was walking. His car, which was precisely three shades darker than his suit, was parked behind him, and Nigel waited outside Arkham's gates for his escort, who appeared a few moments later. The woman was wearing a standard nurse's uniform, like something out of the sixties. As she drew closer, Nigel focused on the small brass plate pinned above her left breast. "Hello, my name is Betty Garrison" She spoke as he read the words, and Nigel offered the woman his hand.

"Nigel Himen." He saw the small smile pull across her face, but ignored it.

"Yes, well, welcome to Arkham. I'm afraid we don't have time for a tour right now, would you mind starting right away? We have a patient who's threatening to call his lawyers, if we don't adhere to the one hour a day of therapy. And he's already missed four sessions."

"No, no. I don't mind at all. Maybe...you could give me a tour later?" He tried for a warm smile, but Betty just looked at him, her eyes darting up to his combed over bald spot.

"I'll have our security guard, Billy, do that. I'm really just the welcoming committee." She turned and started walking towards the building, with Nigel following just behind her. As she spoke, she held up a briefcase Nigel hadn't noticed before. "The Joker's files are in here, but there's really not much to read. No one's lasted longer than a week or two." Shoving the briefcase into Nigel's arms, Betty opened the first door with an I.D. card. There was a buzzing noise, and then she heaved on the door, letting Nigel go through first. They took a left, then went through another door, continuing down a long line of heavy doors with small circular windows near the top. Betty stopped outside the third one.

"This is where he has his private sessions. I'd strongly advise you don't get within three feet of him, and no matter what he says, don't touch him. Good luck, Mr. Himen." She pronounced his name the dirty way, and he barely noticed, watching her open the door with another obnoxious buzzing sound. Betty ushered him inside, and shut the door behind him. "I'll be back in an hour." Her voice sputtered from an intercom on the wall, a red light blinking with her voice. "Just call if you need anything." There was a click, then the red light went out.

Slowly, Nigel turned to get a look at the room. It was completely bare, and the table was bolted to the ground. The chairs were padded, but still looked extremely uncomfortable. Closest to him, the chair was empty. But on the other side of the table, wearing an Arkham issue prisoner suit, sat one of the most well known and least liked faces in Gotham.

"Hello...doctor." The Joker drew out both syllables of the word 'doctor', over enunciating the 't' and 'r'. "Come to pick my brain like all the others?"

"Mr...Joker. You can call me Dr. Himen."

"Oh, Nigel Himen? The _famous _psychologist? What an unfortunate last name. You must have had horribly fascinating parents."

Nigel shifted, already uncomfortable as he sat down and laid out all the papers on the table. "No. My family was normal."

The Joker lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Why so formal, doc? You look tense."

Nigel clipped a college pad to his clipboard, setting the tip of a pen on the top line and scrawling out the date. "I'm not tense. I would like to learn about you, though."

The scars on his face stretched in a grin. "You want to know all about my secret pain? My, how truly...twisted you are, Doctor Himen. Nigel. All right. Should I start with my childhood?"

Nigel hesitated, unsure what to write or say. "Childhood is a good place to start. What were your parents like?"

"Oh, doctor...it was horrible." The sincerity in the Joker's voice was such that Nigel couldn't help but lean in, slightly anxious. "You seem different, from the other doctors. I think I trust you." He sighed as he spoke, and Nigel bit his lower lip, waiting. "My father, you see, was a terrible, terrible man. He murdered my mother when I was six, right in front of me. Took a knife to her stomach, and wrapped her intestines around my throat. Pulled them tight and nearly strangled me." The Joker jerked his fist away from his neck, demonstrating. "Quite traumatic, as you can imagine." The velvet darkness of his voice was intoxicating, and Nigel found he couldn't speak.

"Wanna know about my face? What happened?" The Joker's hum dropped even lower, and he leaned in, face less than a foot away from Nigel's. "My father turned on me, right after killing dear old mom. Laughing as he does it, he carves my face..."

The Joker turned his dark gaze suddenly on Nigel. "How old are you, doc?"

"Thirty." Nigel was suddenly aware that he was in over his head. He couldn't think at all, and the shadows in the Joker's eyes were impossible to look away from.

"Aren't you a bit old to be going bald, Nigel?" A low chuckle started in the back of the Joker's throat, and he leaned back in his chair, bursting into laughter.

"That's enough now, calm down." Nigel stammered over the words.

"You're neglecting your clipboard, Mr. Himen." The Joker's giggling grew stronger.

The laughing prodded at his system, making him feel nauseous. "Be quiet!"

"What is it now, doctor?" The Joker slammed his palms on the table, the handcuffs clinking against the metal. "You look positively _green_! Like _your _mother's insides are tied around your neck!"

"Shut up!" Nigel sprang to his feet, and the Joker let out another bout of hysterical laughter. "SHUT UP!" He reached out and grabbed the Joker's collar, half lifting him out of his chair. The laughter grew louder. "SHUT! UP!" Without thinking, Nigel flung the criminal onto the ground, standing over him and yelling, the force of his voice hurting his throat. Next thing he knew, two men in white coats were dragging him from the room, the Joker's laughter ringing in his ears.

As they "escorted" him from Arkham, Nigel was aware of Betty saying to another nurse: "Told you he wouldn't last an entire session. You owe me ten dollars."


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Wayne. Your table is ready, if you'll follow me, please." The seating host didn't bother with a menu; Bruce Wayne always ordered the same thing on Thursday evenings, a T-bone steak and a side of steamed vegetables. What was surprising about Bruce Wayne tonight was that he was alone. The seating host, whose name was Leonard, couldn't remember a single time in the past few months of Mr. Wayne's regular attendance that he had shown up without a lovely woman on one or both of his arms. Sure, a couple times, he had come here with a potential business partner. This was, after all, one of Gotham's fanciest restaurants. Leonard assumed that Mr. Wayne was meeting someone here. He paused beside the table and hesitated. "Your usual, sir?"

"This isn't my usual table," Bruce readjusted the edges of his suit, brows drawn down as he looked outside, where he always sat. "And...do you know who that is?"

Leonard turned to follow _Le Grand's_ best customer's eyeline. Outside, on the patio that was sheltered by tall panes of glass that stretched up and overhead, a young woman was seated at a table for two by herself. Her profile was outlined by the lights just beyond the windows, showing heavily framed glasses and dark hair that was pulled back into a severe ponytail. There was no food on the table in front of her, which was hardly surprising. The fancy red cloth was covered with papers, which the woman bent over with an intent look on her face. There was a single glass, filled with some clear sparkling liquid.

"I don't know, sir. This is her first time here."

"She's at my table." Mr. Wayne certainly didn't sound upset, more puzzled, as if he couldn't fathom something like this happening. "I love that table. You can see over all of Gotham. Do you think she could be persuaded to move?"

Leonard blinked, looking back at the woman, deeply immersed in her papers. "I can go ask, sir."

"Please do, and tell her I'll pay for her drink, if she's willing to switch."

Bruce followed Leonard's progress as he nodded and moved across the room and out into the solarium. Gently, he rested one hand on the woman's shoulder. She looked up, expression slightly annoyed at being interrupted. Leonard spoke in a low voice, motioning back inside to Bruce. The woman turned her head to look, and Bruce offered a small smile.

There was a moment of relief when he saw her smile back. She lifted her face to Leonard and replied to him, expression still very calm. But as he watched, Leonard's face slid into a frown. He spoke a bit faster, but the woman raised her hand, speaking courteously but clearly very firm about whatever she was saying. A moment later, she turned back to the papers, completely ignoring Leonard. Looking uncomfortable, the seating host hesitated, then trudged back to Mr. Wayne. "She said that...ehm..." He cleared his throat, and Bruce lifted one eyebrow. "She said she was here first, and has as much right to that table as you do."

Both the billionaire's eyebrows rose and he smiled a little as Leonard continued. "She also said that the price of a club soda was hardly worth giving up such a spectacular view."

"Thank you, Leonard. You can go ahead and send the waiter over." Bruce reached into his pocket, securing a twenty dollar bill between two fingers before shaking the seating host's hand and leaving the tip in Leonard's palm. Without looking back, he strode lightly across the room and slid outside. The woman didn't glance up, even when Bruce stood right in front of her, behind the second chair at the table. "Hm..." Bruce placed his hands on the back of the chair and started to pull out the chair. There was a dull 'thunk' and the chair stopped moving. Bruce blinked, then leaned down to see what the chair was caught on.

The woman's slightly scuffed shoe was hooked around the chair's leg, preventing it from being pulled out. Bruce smiled slightly, tugging a little harder on the chair, dislodging the woman's foot. She scowled, finally looking up as Bruce seated himself, pushing some of the papers forward to clear a space. "What do you think you're doing?" She spoke with a steady, gentle voice that was faintly accented. Something European. Bruce wasn't entirely sure where, the woman put in a lot of effort to cover it and make herself sound like a native.

"I'm going to have dinner at my favorite table. You're welcome to join me, of course." Bruce fished a napkin out from under the piles of paper and smoothed it onto his lap. He flashed a small smile, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "I'm Bruce."

"Bruce Wayne, yes, I know. Everyone knows who you are." The woman looked down again, scanning one of the documents.

"Hm." Bruce leaned forward slightly, trying to see the words on the papers. "Lawyer?" He reached for the paper closest to him, only to receive a sharp slap on the hand.

"No. I'm a psychologist." The woman pulled all the papers back towards her, stacking them and stuffing them into a briefcase. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Wayne." She started to stand, pushing herself back from the table.

He caught the woman's wrist as she passed him, and she paused. "Could I at least get your name? So I know where to send my apologies?"

The woman blinked, but the corner of her mouth twitched up in the faintest hint of a smile. "Anne Rose."

Anne Rose pulled back, patting Bruce's hair once before moving away, fastening her briefcase as she went. Bruce watched her walk, shaking his head and chuckling slightly to himself. "Here alone, Mr. Wayne?" The waiter had arrived with Bruce's Thursday evening usual drink.

"No, Jeremy. At least, not for much longer." Bruce lifted one hand, motioning to the door Anne was passing through. "My escort for this evening preferred to arrive alone, that's all."

The waiter straightened, relieved of his burdens, just in time to see the woman vanish. "She left awfully early, didn't she?"

Bruce inclined his head, still chuckling. "She hasn't arrived yet, Jeremy. I simply thought I'd get here a bit early, to make sure my table was available."

* * *

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Wayne. Are you quite sure you wouldn't like to come upstairs for some coffee?" The woman was tall, with flowing red hair and startling green eyes. Her dress was classy, a lovely shade of blue with a sweeping v-cut neck.

"I would love to, but I have another engagement tonight." Bruce truly wished he could ignore the floodlight that had been invading his peripheral vision for the past five minutes, but the fact that it had been rebuilt was enough to make him honor the signal. As long as Gotham needed him... "Perhaps the next time you're in town?"

She flashed a dazzling smile full of perfect teeth. "Certainly. Good night, Mr. Wayne."

"Good night, Miss Ainsworth." Bruce turned away as his date made her way into the building, unable to resist revving the engine of his Porsche a few times before going to fetch more efficient vehicles and clothing.

* * *

"Fifth and Main," Gordon spoke as soon as he heard the crunch of gravel, still facing the floodlight, even though he could see the reflection of the black figure in the glass. "There's a hostage situation, just a small time thing, but this guy's already killed one of the hostages, and we don't want anyone else getting hurt." He paused, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. If he didn't actually see the Batman, he wouldn't have let him go. "Look...I just want you to know that-" The reflection shifted, and by the time Gordon turned around, the edge of a black cape was disappearing over the building. "I'm sorry." He finished, rubbing his forhead. He should really think about retiring.

Batman, meanwhile, had no such thoughts. It crossed his mind, once in a while-usually after being seriously hurt-that he should find a way to pass the baton, so to speak. But for now, he couldn't stop.

The Batmobile was still in the shop, just like his Lamborghini, even though he was having to work on the Batmobile himself. So, he found himself riding around on the Batpod, which was really just as good. He left the motorcycle type vehicle in an alley behind the supermarket where the hostages were being held, and moved to the roof of the video rental place next door, where, curiously enough, there weren't any snipers.

Four people wearing ski masks stood back to back with only a small margin of space between them, each holding an automatic rifle to the half dozen or so hostages. One man was lying a little ways away, blood pooled around his head and shoulders. That was one innocent person killed. If he had gotten away from _Le Grand _earlier, maybe he could have saved him. The Batman clenched his fists, gloves making an unpleasant but familiar squelching sound. He needed to get in there. From the looks of things, negotiators weren't having any luck. The building was all glass except the back wall, where there were two doors leading into the storage rooms and offices. Batman leaned forward slightly, having a better angle of sight than the police. There were two more men, one in front of each of the doors, blocking any other form of entry. If snipers tried to take out one of them, the others would have plenty of opportunity to kill one or two hostages. And with all the glass, it would be easy enough for one or more of the robbers to see a sniper preparing themselves.

He was certain one of the men had seen him, for he nudged the gunman on his left and nodded in the Batman's direction. For a moment, Batman tensed, but no one seemed to care that he had arrived. Or maybe he was what they had been waiting for.

He was definitely needed here. The Caped Crusader straightened, looking for the best way in. This didn't _seem_ like a small thing, or a burglary gone wrong. There were six armed men. It was a lot just for a grocery store robbery. Batman stood then broke into a run, thinking he'd have just enough force to crash through the window on the other side of the narrow alley. Just before he reached the edge of the video store's roof, something dropped down from the ceiling between the four men closest to the hostages.

One of the men turned, frowning at the small circular object. A moment later, the smoke bomb exploded, and the four men reeled back, coughing. Batman seized the opportunity and leaped from the roof. The distance was short enough that he didn't need his cape, and he tucked his head down, angling his body so his shoulder hit the window first. He landed in a roll, then sprang to his feet, pulling the nearest of the hostages out of the way. The man closest to him felt Batman brush against his leg, and looked down, eyes red and weeping. "Hey! Guys, it's definitely him!" Batman had taken hold of a second hostage, and braced himself as the man swept the base of his rifle at the Bat's face. He jumped out of the way just in time, and ripped the ropes off the second hostage's ankles, pushing her towards the exit. She ran clumsily without looking back, as Batman threw a vicious punch into the assailant's stomach. The man doubled over, giving Batman the opportunity to snatch the rifle away while at the same time bringing his hand upward in a sharp arc which connected with the man's chin.

By this point, the two robbers guarding the opposite doors and the three who had been in contact with the smoke bomb had noticed what was going on. The five of them gathered into a small group, but none lifted their rifles. Batman didn't think about that at first, until he noticed that one of the men in back had pulled a small child from her father's arms, fingers wrapped around her throat.

"Let her go," Batman's throat felt constricted with panic. The girl was hardly eight years old, and there were already tear stains running down her cheeks. But her eyes had dried now, completely terrified. She and her father were the only two innocents left. If he could just get them out of here...Slowly, Batman straightened.

"Ah, ah. Don't move." The man in front held the barrel of his rifle at the girl's temple, tightening his grip on her throat. She let out a tiny whimper, and her eyes welled up again. Batman paused, freezing in his place. What the hell was he going to do now? The girl's father was off to his left, murmuring and pleading almost inaudibly. He was just far enough away that he wouldn't be able to reach the girl before the gunman's reflex to pull the trigger had activated. If these men were after something specific, maybe he could force them to negotiate. Carefully, Batman lifted his hands in front of him, palms open in the universal sign for 'look, I'm not holding any scary weapons'.

"If there's something you want, we can come to an arrangement-" While the men were focused on him, Batman flicked his eyes upward, seeing the ceiling panel that was being lifted out of place. He barely had time to blink before someone dropped into view with a flash of silver and a high pitched whistling sound. The man holding the girl yelled in pain and whirled around to see what had attacked him. Batman sprang forward just as the little girl did, leaping into her fathers arms. Both bolted out of the building to safety, and Batman delivered a devastating punch to the closest gunman, not pausing to watch him crumble to the ground before movoing on to the next. Within the space of a few seconds, the only sounds were the thudding of Batman's fists and elbows and sometimes his foot on human bodies, and the quick, vicious sounding whistle somewhere near him.

When no one else was rushing at him, he turned around. The person who had dropped in from the roof was straightening, and he frowned as he took in their appearance.

His first dilemna was the person's gender, for they wore what seemed to be some kind of modified flak jacket. It was the kind of thing he might have used if he didn't have the money for properly bulletproof and knife proof articles of clothing. Their face was covered from the nose down with nothing more than a piece of dark cloth that fastened beneath the edges of what looked curiously like a SWAT helmet. Batman's eyes swept quickly down to the person's arms, which were covered in sleeves that seemed to flow seamlessly into gloves backed with thin metal plates. On the front and back of their forearms were two slightly elevated strips of metal. Emerging from the thin line in the center of both pieces was an inch of sharpened steel. Batman tensed slightly, realizing the whistling sounds he had been hearing were the razorblades cutting through the air. There were similar strips of metal on both of the person's shins, and even two very small vertical ones at their throat, positioned over the jugular vein.

"Who are you?" He took a step forward, just as the police began swarming into the building. The person lifted their shoulders, and he thought he saw the mask shift a little like they were smiling as they shrugged. Then they reached into one of the pockets of the flak jacket and dropped another smoke bomb. Batman turned his head away, leaping out the window the same way he had arrived, and took off down the alley towards the batpod. Just as he was about to jump onto the motorcycle, he heard a distinctly female voice from overhead.

"Wouldn't start that, if I were you." Batman spun, seeing the person from inside the store crouching on the first level of a fire escape. "Some crazy in a red and white jumpsuit was tinkering with it." She-for it was clearly a woman it this point- nodded at the unique engine. "Check it."

With mingled irritation and wariness, Batman leaned down, and after a few moments, found the small bomb tied into the inner workings of the engine. It didn't seem like it would have been enough to kill him, just incapacitate him. And if red and white jumpsuit meant Harley Quinn...

"Twice in one day, Batman. You owe me." The girl held up two fingers, and again Batman noticed the shift under her mask. She stood up to leave, and he called out.

"If you saw them putting the bomb on, why didn't you just disable it yourself?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder as she reached for the fire escape level above her. "I'm not very good with engines. And I wanted to see if you'd catch it before getting blown to smithereens." She made a small 'tsk' sound, as if scolding him. "You're losing your touch." Then she pulled herself onto the next level of the fire escape and melted out of sight. With the distinct feeling that he hadn't seen the last of the girl, he examined the batpod more carefully before determining it was safe, then drove off towards his home.

* * *

"Get up," A loud banging on the steel door roused him from what he assumed was only stage one sleep. No dreams. And he always remembered his dreams, when he had them. The security guard banged on the door again, and the Joker sighed, rolling over to face the wall. "Put your hands through the window!" Curious, the Joker opened one eye, looking at the digital clock on the upper wall, which was blinking 4:00. That seemed odd. They wouldn't just forget about giving him meals, and he would be very hungry by now if he hadn't eaten all day. Unless it was four in the morning... "Your new therapist is here, get up!"

At four in the morning? That was new. Maybe they assumed his mind would be weaker when roused from sleep. Not the least bit interested, the Joker sat up lazily. It was about time for him to get out of this place. He'd just have to wait for an opportunity to get a message to Harley and she'd come running- "I SAID NOW!" The door slammed open, and three security guards came bursting in with what the Joker thought was unnecessary dramatics.

Less than ten minutes later, he was handcuffed and sitting in the steel chair in front of the table he had grown so accustomed to. Who would they bring in today? He never really tired of breaking people, sending them home crying, and he was almost positive that at least one or two of the really sensitive ones had hurt themself in some way. Or maybe they had gone off on a loved one, taken out their frustrations in an "unhealthy" way. The Joker felt a tiny giggle bubble in his throat, suppressed only by the opening of the door once again. He decided to pay attention. Entrances could be very important, could show the most efficient way into someone's mind.

The last doctor had been looking behind him, worried at being rushed in so quickly. He was overly excited, but afraid of messing up. Overly cautious and protective to the point where he had been relatively easy prey. This time, the door opened with all the authority of someone who was quite used to his presence. He guessed this doctor was either intelligent enough to look through the glass window and get a sense of the room before hand, or was so arrogant they intended to intimidate him with their bravado. He really hoped it was the first one. He got enough of the second around here.

A woman entered, and the Joker assessed quickly. Nice pants, decent shoes, but both worn enough to suggest she couldn't really afford to replace them that frequently. He hoped that they hadn't sent him a quack who couldn't even make enough money to support herself. A long sleeved sky blue sweater with a high collar, hiding most of her neck. Her hair was also pulled out of her face, and the glasses made her seem a little harsher than she should have. She had soft, very feminine features, and he guessed she was trying to compensate so she would be taken more seriously.

"Good morning." The accent was barely recognizable. She probably had been born in North America, but with parents from over seas. "Did you sleep well?" It almost seemed like she had held onto the accent on purpose, it was so subtle. The Joker rolled that thought around for half a heartbeat, then leaned forward.

"Mind if I talk first?" He could feel his nerves practically dancing with excitement. Each person was different, and breaking them only got more satisfying. The doctor didn't miss a blink, merely nodded and settled back in her chair. Her posture was relaxed, comfortable, even. She must have experience. Maybe in mental hospitals like this one over the country. They generally didn't pay well, which could explain her lack of new wardrobe. But she could have dressed up today, it was her first time meeting him, and first impressions are everything. "I'm sure you're well aware of what I've done, all the crimes and felonies." He waved one hand dismissively, watching the doctor's reaction and slipping his gaze down to her temporary nametag. 'Anne Rose'. No hints to her origin there, unless she had changed her name at some point. "I'm fairly sure what landed me here this time was my latest excursion. You see, there was this third grade class on a field trip and-"

"As you said, I know what you've done. I know what you're capable of." She spoke over him, and the Joker looked at her, folding his hands together and bouncing his knuckles on the table a few times. She must have done research. So she knew he liked to scare them off with sickening tales. But she hadn't reacted at all to the mention of children. Women were usually very emotionally invested in children. But did she really think she could psycho-analyze him without letting him talk? Maybe she was the arrogant type after all. Slightly disappointed, the Joker felt his attention drain slightly, until she spoke again and he registered her tone of voice. "If it were up to me, I'd have you put in the electric chair a thousand times over. No matter how insane you claim to be."

Several things brought his interest roaring back to life. The first was the undercurrent of passion in her first sentence. Most people were upset about the things he had done, and although they spoke with vehement hostility in regards to his name, there was only anger, nothing to suggest it personally offended them. But her voice, although she did quite a good job of keeping it mostly even, had spiked enough for him to guess he had killed someone very close to her. This was about revenge, then! His mind wandered briefly to her name. The Arkham people would have done an extensive background check, they wouldn't ever let someone with a personal grudge against him in the same room. But if this was an alias, one she had been using for a while, they might not have found anything. Delighted at the window of opportunity, he stowed it away for another time, intrigued by her second statement. How insane he _claimed _to be?

She didn't believe what the others said? She didn't think he was out of his mind? So either she agreed with the things he did, which his suspicions of revenge made seem unlikely, or she thought he was sane and just enjoyed killing people. What a weird person.

He had only been silent for a few seconds. "Is it still my turn to talk? Because I've noticed several things that make me think you might not be the right doctor for me."

The indulgent amusement on her face seemed genuine, but he wondered if he had hit on some insecurity about failing. All the doctors who tried to see him had that complex. "Have you?"

He was usually fairly patient with the shrinks, but his eagerness was getting the better of him. "Women are emotional, not as rational as men are, so generally, the men doctors last longer. Not always, but most of the time. You have some kind of alternate agenda, being here, don't you? It's the only reason you're not reacting. Unless you're just waiting to hear _why _I do what I do. But let me tell you something, Dr. Rose." He leaned forward abruptly, shoving himself across the table until his face was nearly touching the psychologist's. She flinched slightly at the sudden movements, but her gray eyes remained calm. "If you're willing to play my games, you might learn a thing or two. Like...the precise sound a human's radius and ulna make when they're broken in half simultaneously."

There it was. The flicker of fear he had been waiting for. Her eyes widened slightly, then became positively petrified when he snapped his hand out and fastened his fingers around her arm, just above the wrist. She stood up abruptly as the door to the room slammed open, but the Joker released her as quickly as he had taken hold of her. Surprised, he allowed himself to be tackled by the three security guards from before, straining to look at his hand. His palm had a very fine, straight cut in it, running from one side to the other. The Joker twisted slightly to get a better view of the doctor, who hadn't moved from her place beside the chair. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see her left arm, which was difficult with the guards manhandling him the way they were. A loud laugh exploded from his chest when he saw the small rip in her sweater, and he found himself unable to stop, barely hearing the brief conversation around him.

"No, I'm fine. Really, let's finish the session."

"Are you sure? Move your fingers-"

"I think I would know if anything were broken, but I do have other places to be later on this morning, I would appreciate getting this over with."

"All right, we'll just secure him better, then. I'm sorry." The guards wrestled him back into the chair, with the Joker's only resistance coming in the form of his unstoppable laughter. She had stabbed him! The doctor had actually _stabbed _him! Was she a sadist or something? It's not like he had been planning on killing her. If he wanted to kill her, he would've just gone straight for her neck and snapped the spinal chord. And how had she done it, anyway? Stuck a razorblade into her skin and then jabbed him with it? In a few more minutes, the room had emptied once again, except for him and the doctor. Slowly, his laughter subsided into small giggles, then he was sober again.

"How'd you get that past the security guards?"

"You don't really think I'd walk in here unarmed, do you?" She had dropped all pretenses of formality, but she didn't sound quite as scared as she should have. Shaken, yes. There were small tremors in her voice that indicated he had at least rattled her confidence. But she still lacked the proper fear and respect someone like him deserved.

"Well you should have! If I could get a hold of your hand, I bet I could take any weapons right off your body. Although..." He let his eyes wander, relishing in the visible tensing of her body that showed her discomfort at being looked at so openly. "It doesn't look like you're hiding anything truly impressive."

"Does that make you feel inferior? Do you think maybe I've underestimated you, not walking in here with machine guns over both shoulders?"

"It makes me _hope _you've got an interesting enough brain and personality to keep me entertained long enough that I don't kill you. Things around here really are getting dull. Now, where were we?" The Joker clicked his tongue a few times, shaking his left leg rapidly with only his toes and the front of his foot on the ground. "Oh, that's right. You were saying something about how _I _claim to be insane?"

"Well, there's a way to tell. Not a standardized test, more of a..."

"A joke?" The Joker narrowed his eyes a little, tilting his head. The doctor ignored him.

"A girl's mother dies. She goes to the funeral, and meets a man there, who she becomes infatuated with. But she doesn't learn his name or anything else about him. The next day, the girl kills her sister. Why does she do this?"

The Joker paused for a few seconds, then shrugged. He never really liked riddles, they generally weren't very amusing. "If you're so into riddles, I have a friend you might get along with well-"

"The answer," She interrupted AGAIN. "Is that she figured if the man showed up at one family funeral, he might show up for another."

The Joker blinked, then threw his head back while the laughter burst from his lungs with more vigor than he had felt this entire stay in Arkham. With his Glasgow smile stretching into a strange grin, he looked back at the doctor. This was a game he might really enjoy playing.


End file.
